The Miserable Ones
by MegsPencer
Summary: A retelling of the Genosha revolution in the Ultimate-verse, starring the New Mutants.  _work in process_
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE  
  
"Mutate 246, report to the nearest supervisor for re-location." The young slave looked up from her machine, wiping dust and sweat from her face in mild, dull surprise. Without her feeding it fabric strips, the machine ground to a reluctant halt, screeching like an injured, petulant animal. 246 walked with stooped shoulders towards the yellow-clad supervisor, the buzzing of the collar around her neck fading into the general din.  
  
"I was called, Sir?" she said loudly to be heard. The supervisor nodded and turned on her heel, beckoning for the younger slave to follow. The supervisor was also a mutate, her head shaved, a collar buzzing around her neck. She and 246 wore the same jumpsuit, but the supervisor's was yellow and black, while 246's was white and black. The colors of both women's jumpsuits had once been bright, but were so dirty with the dust of the factory floor that one could hardly make out the original colors.  
  
Another slave, this one in orange and black, met them at the door leading out of the floor and took charge, leaving the supervisor to return to her task. 246 knew better then to ask what was going on. As they walked, the most noticeably change was in the cleanliness of the halls. The factory floor was filthy, and the halls around it as well. As they made their way towards the offices, the walls became clean and the rooms neat, the floor was suddenly carpeted, and 246 felt filthy and out of place. Her ears rang in the sudden silence, and her collar, and that of her guide, seemed obscenely out of place. And yet, there were mutates here, too. They were everywhere.  
  
"Is this her?" The guide nodded. "You're dismissed." The speaker was human, dressed in the uniform of a magistrate. He had dark eyes and skin, probably with mainland ancestry, and had lines around his eyes and mouth, though 246 though he couldn't be much older than she. "Mutate 246?" She nodded, eyes on the floor.  
  
"Yes, Sir." The man walked around her, eying her like a predator eyes its next dinner.  
  
"You're healthy?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"No recent injuries?"  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"You've spent time working in households?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"You took care of children?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"And you were sent here for subversive activities."  
  
"Yes, Sir," she said through her teeth, knowing better than to correct him. She had been sent here under the charge of subversive behavior, but that hadn't been why she was sent to this hellhole.  
  
"And you've been here for... how long?"  
  
"Seven years, Sir." He nodded, and continued to pace, eyes staring at her through tight lids. She was becoming uncomfortable. It wasn't a magistrate's style to dance around their point.  
  
"Seven years," he repeated. He stopped abruptly on his heel. "You've been requested as a maid in the home of Philip Moreau. You worked in his father's home before you're arrest, did you not?"  
  
"Yes, Sir." Philip Moreau was requesting her in his home? Her mind whirled. He'd been a meek, skinny child who kicked his dog and his nanny as often as his father had kicked him.  
  
"I don't like subversives, mutate 246." He brought his face right up to hers and forced her head up. She focused hard to keep from looking him in the eye. "I think you should be locked away here until you rot." She felt his hot breath on her face and tried not to wince. He sniffed and stepped back. "But that's out of my hands, isn't it." He paused, as if daring her to answer him. "Just remember 246, you are nothing. You are a criminal, and if you step out of line once, I will not stop until I track you down. This isn't a threat; it's a promise." 


	2. Soliloquy

SOLILOQUY  
  
She had to run. As she was led out of the Magistrate's office, as she was checked out of the work camp, as she was given a change of clothes, allowed to shower and led out of that place that had taken her teenage years, all she thought was about escape. She would never live in the home of a Moreau again. She would rather die. She didn't notice as they led her into a vehicle, as the van took her away from the camp and into the Genoshan capital. She didn't notice the sun shining on her face, the fresh breeze blowing across her now clean body.  
  
They stopped in front of a modest house, and all three of her guards pointed their weapons at mutate 246. She tensed as the driver climbed out of the cab and into the back of the van.  
  
"Now, if you move a muscle, my men will shoot," she said shortly. The driver was a tall, thin black woman with short, military cut hair and slanted, almost Asian eyes. She reached for the mutate's collar and unfastened it. 246 could feel her telepathy flowing back, the feeling almost overwhelming after seven years of mental darkness. But just as she was considering making a run for it, trying to seize all four of her guards' minds at once and making them let her out, the driver snapped a smaller inhibitor onto her wrist. The mutate felt a physical pain as the flow of mental images stopped as suddenly as it had begun. She almost wept as the blackness overcame her once more.  
  
The guards relaxed, and opened the door. The driver gestured to 246 to get out. She staggered a little in the bright light, her head throbbing. A man, it could only be Philip Moreau, came out of the house and looked her over with the same dark, cruel eyes as his father. Tonight. She would run tonight.  
  
***  
  
She wasn't expecting to get far, but had hoped she'd at least get far enough to find a weapon, or get the inhibitor off so she could use her powers to defend herself. She hardly made it ten city blocks before the magistrates guarding the capital noticed her distinctive mutate's clothing and bald head. The chase didn't last long. They were strong and fast, and she was weak from her long imprisonment. She was tackled, face smashed into the pavement until her nose broke, and dragged, half-conscious and bleeding, back to Moreau's home.  
  
"Tag says this is yours," her captor said. "Found her on the plaza. Another runner. Scum." He spat at her prone body. Moreau came and laid his hand on the mutate's shoulder.  
  
"Thank you for your vigilance, Magistrate, but I'm afraid there's been a bit of an understanding. I sent this mutate on an errand. She was only doing my bidding." 246 hardly heard him through the throbbing in her ears. What was he doing?  
  
"What are you taking about?" The magistrate couldn't believe it either. Moreau straightened indignantly.  
  
"Are you questioning me, officer? You do know who my father is, do you not?"  
  
"No, Sir. I mean, of course I know who your father is. But why would you..."  
  
"It is not your place to question me, officer. But to settle your mind, I'd hoped to draw the underground out of hiding by sending a decoy into the city with a tracking device planted in her head. When she'd reached the headquarters, we'd be able to track their location and flush them out. But I can trust you to keep this to yourself, can I not?" The magistrate stood straight and saluted.  
  
"Yes Sir!" He beckoned to his partner and they left quickly, before Moreau could ask for their identification. 246 remained huddled on the flood, holding her face in her hands.  
  
"You're hurt." He went to a shelf and drew out a first aid kit. "Let me help you up." He reached for her arm, but she lashed out, snarling like a threatened animal. "It's okay. It's okay. Please, I don't want to hurt you. But you need medical attention." He glanced up as a woman entered the room. "Jenn, could you please help calm her down?" Jenn tucked short brown hair behind her ear and knelt.  
  
"Please, it's okay." She took a scanner from Moreau's hand. "Your nose looks broken, and if we don't get to it soon, we'll have to take you to a medicenter." She had a soft, but authoritarian voice that made 246 want desperately to trust her. Slowly she lowered her hands and gazed at them, unable to associate the blood on her hands with the pain in her face. "What's your name?"  
  
"246" Jenn reached for the mutate's face. 246 pulled back.  
  
"Please. I'm going to heal your face now. This is going to hurt." 246 grunted at the renewed pain, but did not cry out. She reached up and touched her face. Her nose was sore, but whole.  
  
"How did you... you're a..." Jenn nodded.  
  
"Yes. Tell me, what's your name? The one you were born with."  
  
"Xi'an. My name was Xi'an." She stared at the woman kneeling before her in awe. This woman was a mutate, but she wasn't a slave. She wore clothing like a normal, and had hair. Xi'an reached forward and pointed at Jenn's neck. "Do you?"  
  
"Yes." Jenn lifted her heavy brown hair and turned to show the number tattooed to her neck. 022  
  
"How.." Jenn cut her off.  
  
"Not here. Come." Mutate 246- Xi'an- rose slowly to her feet. Her knees ached, and her face throbbed. She felt a pounding, rushing of blood behind her eyes and through her temples, a sensation that blocked out any thoughts she might have had. She remembered her original mutate conditioning, being submersed in a sensory deprivation tank unable to see, hear, touch, taste or smell. All she'd been able to hear was the rushing of blood in her ears. Now she followed behind this woman, not so much older than herself, who'd been able to overcome the impossible. Once a mutate, always a mutate. Every Genoshan knew that.  
  
They came for you at night. How they knew was a mystery, but there was no escape. They came and took children away, 11, 13, 15 year old girls and boys taken from their families and never seen again. They reappeared months, even years later, heads shaved, wearing color-coded uniforms and identified only by the numbers tattooed to the back of their neck. You didn't escape. There was no escape.  
  
But this woman had escaped.  
  
The women entered a back room where Philip Moreau was going through a closet. Jenn went to the pile of clothing he'd tossed onto the floor and took a shirt and slacks.  
  
"Put these on." 246 stepped back nervously. She stared at the clothing in the young woman's hands. A shirt. Slacks. Moreau pulled a wig out of one of the shelves.  
  
"Xi'an, I want to help you, but you have to trust me." She had to force herself to reply, forcing against the months of conditioning that had taught her not to speak unless spoken to, not to speak more than needed, and never, never to talk back to a normal.  
  
"Why.. why should I trust you?" Philip smiled sadly.  
  
"After you were arrested, Jenn came to take your place. When I moved away from my father's home, I was able to see that what I'd done to her, what I did to you, was wrong. I was able to help Jenn. I want to help you too. But you have to trust me." 246 stood impassively, half in shock, as Jenn pulled off her coverall and helped her dress in the normal clothing. 246 watched as Philip took a dark wig and handed it to Jenn. Their hands remained touching for a moment, and a look passed between the former mutate and her former master. 246 remembered that look from her childhood. It was a look of kindness, a look of familiarity. A look of love.  
  
Moreau pressed a bag and a letter into her hands. She looked at him with blank eyes as Jenn settled the wig firmly on her head.  
  
"Do you know where Macias' Groceries is?" She nodded. "Show this letter to anyone you meet. At the grocers, knock three times on the back door, and say that 022 sent you. Then give them the letter. The people there will put you on a ship to America and give you enough funds to get settled there." 246 began to shake, her eyes burning.  
  
"You need to calm down, Xi'an," Jenn said. "We've been doing this for a long time. You want to be free?" 246 nodded.  
  
"Then forget my name," Moreau said. "Forget this place. Just get to Macias', get to America, and start a new life."  
  
"But why?" His eyes darkened. "I saw the truth of what my father is doing to the mutants... the mutates of Genosha. I saw what I was turning into and I didn't like it. Jenn showed me a better way." He took her hands in his. "Xi'an, I saw that God did not create mutants for others to exploit. He loves mutants and normals equally, and so should I." She narrowed her eyes, but the only thing she'd really heard was the word free.  
  
"We should get going.," Jenn said, standing and going to the door.  
  
"Are you sure you should go with her?" Philip asked, concern bright in his eyes. She nodded and he bowed his head in agreement. "Xi'an, once you're in America your life is yours, but even the US isn't totally safe for mutants. If you want to hide your power, that's your choice, but if you want to get training, or need more help getting settled, talk to Charles Xavier. Remember that name. He's a good man who cares about mutants. He's our main coordinator in America, and can help you."  
  
"Xavier," she repeated. Philip nodded, then gave her a gentle push towards the door.  
  
"Go on then." He reached out for Jenn, who took his hand and stepped into the young man's open arms. They embraced like their lives were about to end, like they were expecting to be torn apart any moment. 246 lowered her head reflexively, but peered up through veiled eyelashes. Jenn's fingers were laced through his hair, and her head was tilted up to brush his lips gently with her own.  
  
"Be careful," he whispered. "I love you." 246 bit the inside of her lip in confusion. Jenn pulled away from Philip and took the disguised mutate's arm.  
  
"It's time to go." 246 let herself be pulled towards the door. Her thoughts were now loud. Say something. She had to say something. He'd saved her life. He was setting her free. This woman had been a mutate, and now he said he loved her. He'd saved her from the Magistrates when she'd fled, and now he was setting her free, sending her to America.  
  
"Thank you," she blurted out. Philip Moreau blinked.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"I'll go to Xavier and tell him what is happening here. Then I'll come back and help you free the rest of the mutates." Philip smiled his sad smile again. This time she understood what he meant by that sadness. There was little hope for the majority of the Genoshan mutates, his eyes said, but if he could free just one slave, it was enough. It was some small penance for what his father, a leading scientist of Genosha, had done to perfect the mutate conditioning process. "I swear I will." 


End file.
